


one bed

by flowerkook



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Excessive use of italics, F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, Sharing a Bed, and there was only one bed, because that is my brand now, geralt listens to your heart cliche, oh my god... there was only one bed, references to the witcher video games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerkook/pseuds/flowerkook
Summary: "You can’t see past him at first. His shoulders are broad, taking up the entire width of the doorway. And then he moves inside and there’s a single bed taking up much of the space in the center of the room."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 177





	one bed

You should’ve known better. You should’ve offered to ride to the inn the next town over. Or asked the innkeeper if there was a local women’s convent. Or a family that would offer lodging in exchange for a favor. But you were too tired to process exactly what you were walking into, worn from a long day of riding.

The words spoken by the innkeeper merely washed over you. There was no need to pay them much attention when Geralt was there to handle the transaction.

You blame it on the armored hounds that kept showing up out of nowhere, chasing you and Geralt for nearly a dozen miles. The combination of his Igni sign and your steel sword was enough to finally rid them from your trail, but it took a toll on the both of you.

You’re fully prepared to follow Geralt into the room, collapse on one of two rickety wooden beds, and let lethargy fully consume you. And then he opens the door.

You can’t see past him at first. His shoulders are broad, taking up the entire width of the doorway. And then he moves inside and there’s a single bed taking up much of the space in the center of the room.

You slip past him wordlessly and drop your rucksack in a corner, your swords clattering as you drop them to the ground, too sore to be careful in the action. Then, the little armor you wear falls into a pile beside them. You turn back to the center of the room.

The sheets on the bed look terribly scratchy, but you were used to that by now. Geralt stands across the bed from you, similarly rid of his armor and weapons.

Across the bed. The bed. _There’s only one bed._

Shit.

Then you’re looking comically between the bed and Geralt, then back to the bed, then back to Geralt. You’ve already done the math, but you do it again.

Two of you. One bed. _Two of you. One bed._

You’re sure you’ve made an error in your calculation somewhere, but sure enough you check again and it remains the same.

Your muscles feel heavy and your eyelids droop even as your mind runs a mile a minute.

He’s looking at you expectantly. “Is this going to be a problem?” He looks particularly big in the small room, looming over the lone bed.

You’ve dressed his wounds and he’s dressed yours. You’ve seen each other nearly naked, fought side by side, shared meals and drinks and spilt blood together on more than one occasion. What was one night in one bed?

“No,” you tell him with a finality that doesn’t at all reflect the twisting in your stomach.

It’s a process to get into the bed. You can feel the irritation radiating off of your companion. He’s tired. In quick movements, he’s settled under the sheets, back turned to you and breaths growing increasingly steadier.

You stand at the edge of the mattress, fingers picking at a corner of the scratchy sheet.

This is fine. This is fine. _This is fine._

The bed isn’t that big, but you can sleep on the edge. You’ve slept in worse places.

With slow and hesitant motions, you inch back the sheets and climb underneath them, one hand clutching the rough material to your body. You lay nearly half off the mattress, but you don’t think you can handle being any closer to Geralt. Even at this distance, your heart beats loudly in your ears, adrenaline keeping you from relaxing.

No matter how tired you are and how your muscles ache, you remain tense, like you’re ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

You’re left alone with the thoughts swimming through your mind, the thump in your chest, and the gentle sounds of the Witcher that slumbers behind you. Your eyes are tired and they unfocus and focus periodically, but your body is wired and your mind is running at a full sprint.

You don’t know how much time passes, there’s nothing for you to measure by in the dark little room. Your body complains of aches and strain, and your heart still doesn’t listen, racing at a quick pace at just the sensation of Geralt’s presence behind you.

Any rationalizing you attempt fails immediately. You can’t control your body in your sleep: what if you drool, or roll over next to him, or worse? What if you try to _cuddle_ him? You know you’re not one to move much in your sleep, and you’ve slept in any number of uncomfortable positions before. There’s no reason to think any of these things will occur. And yet, you cannot sleep, try as you might.

And then there’s a rustling behind you. You tense even more, restricting all movement in your muscles. Maybe if you don’t move, he’ll stay asleep.

Geralt groans. He’s awake. “What is it going to take for your heart to stop beating so loudly?” he says, voice thick with sleep and ire, the sudden sound nearly making you jump. His question only makes the muscle thump harder, betraying your silent order. He huffs in irritation.

You’re ready to offer to sleep on the ground or drink yourself into a stupor in the tavern. The second option is particularly tempting in the moment.

Then he turns, the bed creaking painfully with the movement. A hand is slung over your waist and you’re pulled against him. You nearly squeak. Why he thinks this will calm you is entirely beyond you. Your heart jumps and stutters as his breath whispers against your neck.

You’re back on the trail, hounds chasing you, wind in your hair, fear and adrenaline surging you forward. You’re wide awake, frantically strategizing, plotting the best escape.

“Relax,” he growls. You’re not even sure he said the word. It rumbles in his chest against your back. His grip on you tightens.

Then your years of experience kick in. You know exactly how to calm yourself when you need to. You’ve done it tons of times! In the face of royal griffins and kikimore. You’ve fought drowners and golem alike!

A single deep breath in and out. You focus on the feeling of your tired eyes, the muscles that ache for slumber, not how half of his hand is against the bare skin of your stomach. You’re pointedly not cursing your tunic for riding up.

Your efforts are futile.

But you are so, _so_ tired and Geralt is so warm. He’s a furnace encircling you, the comfort of his arms pulling you from your panic, slowly but surely. You allow yourself to feel the heat radiating from his chest, the weight of his arm on you, the tickle of his breath.

Then as if he senses where your mind has gone, the tangles his legs with yours, effectively locking you to him. The sheer comfort of his body overpowers your skittish heart, and your muscles battle your mind. They scream to just _stop thinking_ and give in.

You listen, eyes fluttering closed, even as your heartbeat is still returning to its resting rate. Geralt hums in satisfaction and nuzzles further into your neck.

The sun is harsh against your closed eyelids. The mattress is much more comfortable than you remember and you struggle to fight the last remnants of sleep and pry your eyes open. When you blink away the lethargy, the first thing you notice is how bright the sun is. It must be nearing noon, extremely unusual for you. Over the past few months, your internal clock had set itself to rise early to make traveling easier.

And then you notice that your mattress is breathing.

It takes a great deal of effort to shift your sore muscles and turn your neck enough to see Geralt’s face, serene with his eyes closed. You’re laid entirely across his broad chest, his warmth seeps through the thin material of his shirt and into your skin. Your legs are tangled with his.

You swallow nervously and sleep leaves your body with urgency as your pulse quickens again, disobedient to every command you yell at your heart.

There’s a deep rumbling beneath you. Geralt groans and you feel it vibrate through every bone in your body.

He lays a hand over your back, it sends a jolt up your spine that makes you want to immediately roll out of his grasp and onto the floor. But he’s pressing you closer to him. And you’re still so tired.

“Sleep,” he says, eyes still closed in the throes of slumber himself.

You listen, willing your eyes to block out the sunlight, focusing on the heartbeat that thumps steady beneath your ear, convincing your heart to follow the same tempo.

**Author's Note:**

> requested on tumblr  
> come say hi @ rebelhan on tumblr!


End file.
